A (false) Comfort in the Dark
by UnderlandsCreator
Summary: How to make a Forever Friend: In five easy steps! Step One: Dig a hole in the garden Step Two: Fill the hole with things that make a good friend Step Three: Pick a wishing Star from the sky and pour its magic inside Step Four: Cover the hole back up, and pat it down firmly Step Five: Prick your finger on a roses thorn, and water your growing friend with seven drops of blood
1. The Wish

The day was hot, the setting sun doing little to help, though the way it painted the sky in shades of the rainbow sherbet Dudley had been eating earlier at least let him pretend that it was cooler than it was.

Harry sighed, dropping the muddy bucket filled with what few weeds and wilting roses he could find off to the side, wiping his sweaty face off on his sleeve.

He was finally done with the front and sides of the house, which meant being able to retreat to the shade of the back without having to worry about Petunia or Vernon calling him out for being lazy, and slacking off on his chores.

"And that they can't stop me from doing this," he whispered to himself, turning the knob on the hose until the water started to come out at a steady trickle.

He cupped some of the water in his hands and splashed it on his face, drinking a handful or ten when he was done, only stopping when his headache, and the feeling like the inside of his mouth was coated in dry, brittle paper, finally faded away.

Petunia only allowed him a single glass of water after he was done each day, which was nowhere near as much as he needed. That being the case, as long as he was quick, ( and Petunia wasn't being especially nosy) he was able to drink enough to make his headaches, along with the irritating black spots that popped up whenever he stood up too fast, or moved around too much, go away.

Harry sat back and turned the water off, trying to relax as much as he could until Vernon stomped his way out, and he was forced back inside. And since "going inside", just meant "stuffed back into the hotbox his cupboard became every summer", he wasn't looking forward to that moment.

At all.

That was the main reason why, despite all the problems that came along with it, he looked forward to tending the garden each day. (No matter how unnecessary it _absolutely_ was. There were only so many weeds that could pop up in the span of a few hours, and by "so many" he, of course, meant none at all, a fact that Petunia seemed willfully ignorant of.) At least when he was outside he had fresh air and a breeze, meager as it was, to keep him even slightly cool.

He sighed and closed his eyes, idly rolling a blade of grass between his fingers, the sounds of Dudley and his friends playing in the street slowly drifting over.

Unfortunately, the noises they were making were the exact opposite of pleasant and relaxing, being nothing more than shrill shrieks from Piers, and Dudley's pig-like snorts of laughter, along with the cries of whoever they had found to pick on this time, things he could happily have gone without.

But even then, he couldn't help the brief pang of hurt his heart gave him, or the small spark of jealousy.

Dudley had done everything in his power as a bully to make sure that he didn't have any friends in school, and outside of it, besides the fact that Petunia and Vernon hated to let him out any more than they had to for his chores, all the other kids in the neighborhood were too afraid of Dudley and his gang to even pretend to bother with him.

Simply put, he wasn't worth it, and that _hurt_.

He had no one to talk to, no one to play with, no one who would even stand near him, close enough that maybe he could pretend that they were standing with him, and not just in his general area.

The closest thing he had to a friend was a small stuffed wolf he had had for as long as he could remember, black fur worn soft and ragged from how much he held it, and its round, white button eyes barely hanging on by a thread.

Padfoot was his only friend, and he was a good friend! Don't get him wrong, he loved Padfoot, it was just that, sometimes, sometimes he wished he had a friend that could talk back.

Was that really asking for much? For someone who would listen to him, and talk to him? Someone who would play with him, choose _him_ over everyone else, who would be strong, strong enough not only to protect him from Dudley, but all the bullies in the world. And, and someone who was...was _kind_.

He just, he just wanted someone who would be _nice_ to him, who would stay with him forever, no matter what. But someone like that, the perfect friend, didn't...didn't exist, not as far as he could tell.

Harry rolled his eyes, shuffling back over to the roses when Petunia started to tap on the glass of the back door, glaring down her hawkish nose at him and gesturing sharply for him to get back to work.

He gently patted at the soil, tugging up a few of the weeds that he had purposefully left behind yesterday so that he'd have something to do, and couldn't help but sigh at another loud shriek from the street, frowning down at his hands.

With things being the way they were, he'd be better off just giving up on the whole "friends" thing period, much less the idea of actually making on…e.

Harry tilted his head to the side, something about that tugging at his mind, refusing to be ignored.

"Make friends..." he mouthed to himself, "make _a_ friend."

He stared blankly down at his hands buried in the soil as a crazy idea slowly came to life in his mind. _Make a friend_...that's right. Why should he worry about all the people around him who couldn't be bothered with him? He didn't need them, but that didn't mean that he had to settle for being alone, either.

No, he knew what he had to do, the answer staring him in the face, day after sweltering hot day.

If the right friend, no, the _perfect _friend for him didn't exist, then he would just have to make one! Or, more precisely, _grow _one.

He could grow himself the perfect friend, just like the rose bushes, because...because he was _special. _He had powers, he had _magic, _he made strange things happen all the time, all without meaning too, but what if he could do it on purpose this time?

No, not _if, _he _would _do it on purpose this time.

"Now all I have to do is find the right...ingredients?" He shook his head, looking thoughtfully down at the ground before he started to dig a small hole with his hands, not bothering with the spade, trying to visualize how it would all come together, talking to himself as he worked.

"No, ingredients just makes me think I'm making a soup, but saying seeds kind of sounds even stranger even though that's _technically _more right," Harry stopped, looking carefully down at the hole and pulling out the small worm he unearthed, putting it down off to the side, "hmm, maybe materials? Well, whatever, what they're called isn't the important part. What really matters is, what, exactly, makes a perfect friend?"

Or more importantly, what did _he _have that could make a perfect friend? Besides Dudley's old, ugly castoffs, and the few mostly intact toys he had managed to save and hoard away after Dudley was done destroying them for the most part, and of course Padfoot, he didn't really...have anything.

"But maybe it's not important what the materials _are, _as long as they all mean what I _want_ them to mean_. _Like the toy soldier. That can be one thing, so that my friend is strong, and can protect me. And, an-"

Harry startled back, cut off mid-word as Vernon banged the back door open, face tomato red even though there were only a few steps between the kitchen and his recliner in the living room, though considering who he was talking about, those few steps must have felt like miles.

"Boy!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth and no doubt getting caught in his mustache, "Get inside! You need to wash off those _filthy_ hands of yours before you get started on dinner."

Vernon paused, as if he was considering something, before he stepped forward and kicked down the bucket, scattering the weeds inside. He shot Harry a smug, triumphant grin, as if he had actually done anything after he was done, "And clean up this mess."

Harry waited until Vernon had stomped his way back inside before he rolled his eyes, not bothered in the slightest, mind racing with everything he was about to do, and so happy that not even Vernon in all his, _Vernonness, _could put a damper on his mood.

He was about to make himself a _friend! _His first, real-life friend, and he couldn't _wait_ for tomorrow to come!

* * *

Harry walked out the door the next day with a spring in his step, carefully wrapped bundle hidden underneath his shirt, only to see that, unfortunately, Petunia seemed to have other plans.

He stared in dismay as Petunia set herself up outside to "sunbathe", (whatever that meant, because all it ever looked like to Harry that she was doing was laying out in the sun, doing her best impersonation of a lobster), muttering all the while about how crass it was for Mabel from next door to brag about the tan she got on vacation, when Petunia herself could get one just as well from the comfort of her own backyard, all without spending a penny.

(Never mind how Harry had heard her on multiple occasions, just this past week alone, hinting, not at all subtly to Vernon how nice it would be to get away and leave the country for the summer, while Vernon, just as subtly, soundly ignored her or changed the subject.)

All in all, what this meant for Harry was that he was on lemonade duty until she decided she had had enough and went back inside. And what _that_ meant was that he wouldn't have a spare minute to himself, let alone enough time to figure out _how_ he was going to grow his friend.

As quietly as he could, Harry tried to slowly ease his way back into the house in a vain attempt to escape what he knew was coming, only for Petunia to catch him out at the last second.

She squinted one eye open and sniffed in disgust at the sight of him, before lazily waving her hand at the empty tray on the small table next to her lounge chair, "Instead of standing there like a fool, make yourself useful and fetch me the lemonade from the fridge."

Since as a general rule Petunia and Vernon preferred that he spoke never, Harry didn't bother saying anything in response. Keeping his arms carefully placed in front of his stomach so that it didn't seem obvious that he was hiding something, he turned back into the house, stopping at his cupboard first and carefully setting his bundle under his cot, and then heading to the kitchen.

This was just a small setback. And come to think of it, Harry was pretty sure that he would have preferred working by moonlight anyway.

* * *

The full moon was high in the sky by the time Harry managed to sneak out, its bright light more than making up for the fact that he wasn't able to come out when it was still light outside.

"See Padfoot? Didn't I say that it's better that I'm doing this now anyway? Now I can take as long as I need to without worrying about getting caught," he whispered to Padfoot, who was curled in the crook of his arm, "now, where should we do this?"

Harry looked around the backyard, eyeing the rose bush in the corner, before finally settling on a spot just behind the shed. The tree in the back mostly kept that spot hidden from view, while still letting enough light pass through that sunlight or moonlight, his growing friend would be able to get all the light it needed.

Plus, no one ever went to the shed beside him anyway, so no matter how his friend grew he should be fine. Hopefully.

That decided, Harry set to work, carefully laying out the old shirt he had his materials bundled in until everything was neatly spread out, taking special care with the old handkerchief he had in the middle, its contents clinking together gently.

Padfoot he set down next to him and started digging.

It didn't take long for him to dig a hole big enough to fit everything he had, and with that done he put Padfoot in first, giving him one last hug and a kiss on each of his button eyes. "This, this isn't goodbye, okay? You're just going to sleep for a little bit, and when you wake up, when you-"

Harry bit his lip, trying to steady his voice, and doing his best to ignore the few tears threating to slip free from his eyes.

Staring at Padfoot's little face, familiar and soft, he couldn't understand why he was suddenly feeling so, so _sad._

Harry hugged him close again, burying his face in his neck_, "_Don't make that face, okay? You've been with me forever, so if I make you part of my new friend, then they'll be with me forever too, so when you wake up, we'll be back together, all right? And this time nothing will ever separate us again."

Taking a deep breath Harry pulled away, wiping his arm across his eyes and finally putting Padfoot in the hole, lingering on him for a second longer before moving on to the soldier. It was the only one of the few that he had that was still intact, a little scuffed, but nothing too bad.

"Okay, so you're going in because I want my friend to be strong like a soldier. I want them to fight for me, and protect me from bullies like Dudley, and everything else in the world that can hurt me," Harry patted the soldier once on the head and tucked it in next to Padfoot.

"Only two left now."

He picked up the little notebook, flipping through the pages one last time before he added it to the hole.

"So, one of the main things that I want you to be able to do is talk, and since I can't, you know, bottle up a voice and give it to you, I figure the next best thing is giving you a notebook full of all the words I know." That was honestly the best he could do, and he hoped that would be enough.

"No, it _will_ be enough," he reassured himself as he reached for the handkerchief, carefully undoing the knot keeping it closed, "It's just like I said yesterday, as long as everything stands for what I want them to stand for, everything will be fine."

Folding back the edges of the handkerchief revealed a small hand mirror, its surface broken into three pieces. He had found it one day when he was cleaning the attic, broken and covered in dust in the corner, and he would have thrown it away if it wasn't for the lily engraved on its back.

Petunia never talked about his mother, seeming to hate her and his father as much as she did him, but when he was younger he had asked her once, and only once what her name was, and surprisingly enough, she answered him, but not before making sure he knew that that was the last time she would ever speak about her, and the last time he would ever ask.

But when he found the mirror, something in him just knew that it had belonged to his mother, so he kept it.

"I'm adding this so that you'll be kind and love me, like I hope my mother did. Her name was Lily, and I don't remember her, but that's what moms are supposed to do, right? Love you the most in the world," he carefully laid the mirror in the hole on top of Padfoot, "and I hope the mirror makes you see as clear as, well, a mirror, or at least better than me."

"Now all I have to do is figure out how to get my power mixed in…" Harry sat back, staring at his hands, willing something to happen, but not overly surprised when nothing did.

He sighed, leaning his head back to look at the sky, the full moon drawing his attention, bright and unobstructed by any clouds.

"I guess it wouldn't be that easy. Come on Harry, you just have to concentrate…" Harry trailed off, attention caught by a star blazing a trail across the sky, "A shooting star…wait, isn't a shooting star a wishing star? Maybe…"

Scrambling up to his feet Harry reached his hands up and pretended to catch it, screwing his eyes shut and thinking with all his might, _I have a wishing star in my hand that will grant my wish, I have a wishing star in my hand that will grant my wish, I have a wishing star in hand that will grant my wish._

He felt…he was pretty sure he felt _something_ in his hands, warm, and tingling, and not like anything he had ever felt before, which either meant his crazy idea worked, or his mind was playing tricks on him.

Holding his breath, Harry slowly opened his eyes and stared at his hands, fingers clasped together like he was hiding something, gold light escaping from the gaps between.

He fell to the ground, knees weak, laughing incredulously and remembering only at the last second to reign it in. He opened his hands to see that, resting in his cupped palms, hovering maybe an inch above them was a _star_, a _wishing star_.

"It worked! I can't, I can't believe it _actually_ worked! Wow, it's so _warm," _he was smiling harder than he ever had in his entire life as he brought the star closer to his face, until he was practically nose to nose with it.

It was slowly rotating in his hands, casting off a brilliant golden glow, sharp points constantly shifting. It really and truly looked like something from a fairytale, like he had just reached up and plucked a star from the sky. It was, it was _amazing_, and beautiful, and _his. _It was his power, his, his_ magic. _And it was just, _wow._

"_Thank you,_ thank you for working," Harry's hands were shaking, and he kind of _really_ wanted to hug it, but he was afraid of being too rough and messing it up, so just as carefully as he had put in the mirror, he placed the star in the hole.

It spun slowly in place, hovering above and painting everything gold. He looked around one last time to make sure he had everything when his eyes caught on the rose bushes, and he remembered what he had decided to do earlier.

Petunia liked the white roses best, so just because he could he searched around the bush until he found the biggest, brightest one in full bloom, with no browning on the edges of any of the petals, and snapped it right off.

Standing over the hole, he twirled the rose between his fingers, thinking about what it would represent in his new friend. "Um, I guess this rose is so that you smell nice like a rose? I'm not too, ow! " he stopped, bringing his pointer finger up to his face to see it better-and yep, it was bleeding.

He brought it up to his mouth to lick the blood away, when he stopped, looking at it closely.

"Since I'm trying to grow a living friend, not a flower, should I water it with blood instead of water?" He looked between the watering can and his finger thoughtfully for a few seconds, before deciding that yes, blood would probably be better.

He pricked himself with the thorn again to make sure that the hole didn't close, and added the rose in with the rest.

Kneeling back down on the ground, Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and made his wish.

"I wish for a friend that's strong, strong enough to protect me from anything that wants to hurt me, I wish for a friend that's kind, who will always love me more than anyone else, and finally, I wish for a friend that will talk to me, and most importantly, never leave me, who will stay together with me forever, and be my forever friend."

Opening his eyes, he saw the star collapse into a pool of golden light, covering everything in the hole and making small waves until it was finally still.

"I guess that means it worked, right? Right," Nodding his head to himself, he covered the hole with the soil he had dug up, and patted it down firmly until not a hint of light was seen.

Harry held his finger over the spot and squeezed until the drop of blood grew heavy enough to fall.

"Okay, here we go," squeezing it one more time it fell, and he started to count, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," he stopped there, letting the last drop fall. "That should be good. Seven is supposed to be a lucky number, and I need all the luck I can get to make sure this works."

He patted the ground one last time with his other hand and stuck his finger into his mouth, licking it a few times until it stopped bleeding. Picking up his shirt, he made sure nothing was out of place and snuck back into the house.

Now all that was left to do was wait until tomorrow to see if anything had started to grow.


	2. Forever Friend

It called your name three times last night,

Its shadow something Other,

A thousand eyes to see you with,

A thousand words to utter

A thousand thorns that gleam with blood,

A thousand hands to tether,

It found you in the dark last night,

Behind the cupboard door,

A friend to you on moonless nights,

A friend with you forever

* * *

Stepping outside the next day, the first thing Harry did (after making sure no one was looking, of course) was check on his friend. Ducking behind the tree, the first thing he saw, to his surprise, was a white rosebud with strange black marks on its petals poking out of the soil on a stem that shone the same color as the star.

He knelt to get a closer look and saw that the black markings were words, _his_ words, constantly moving and scrolling across the petals.

"So it really did work... that's so amazing! I can't wait until you're finished growing," he touched one of the petals, as soft as Padfoot's fur, and the words crowded around his thumb, swirling around it in a ring. "I wonder if you'll be like that story, where there's a tiny person inside the flower, or maybe _you're_ the flower? Either way, it doesn't matter what you are, I'm just so excited to meet you. Oh, and my name's Harry by the way. I'll help you choose a name once you can speak."

He pet it one last time and stood up, only to notice once he did that the leaves were shaking, reaching out towards him, and Harry couldn't stop his giddy laughter, no matter how hard he tried.

Covering his mouth and glancing back quickly to make sure that no one heard, he knelt back down and tried to comfort it as best he could. "I know, I know," he whispered, "I don't want to leave you either, but I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

This time the whole flower drooped when he stood up, sagging down and head nodding low, somehow managing to look like the saddest thing in the whole world, and it didn't even _have_ a face.

And Harry didn't want to leave, he really, _really_ didn't, but there was only so long he could stand in the corner before Petunia noticed, so he was forced to say goodbye and get back to work.

_It's only for a few hours anyway_, he tried to console himself, guilt eating away at his heart as the scene replayed in his mind over and over again in slow motion, _and as soon as it gets dark I'll be back to water it and talk for as long as I want._

* * *

Just as he had promised, Harry was back around midnight like the day before. His friend perked up as soon as he knelt by it again, wrapping its leaves around his thumb and nuzzling into his hand.

"I'm happy to see you too. Now, you're probably hungry, so let's get that out of the way first," gently nudging his friend back, he pricked his finger on one of the golden thorns, a bead of blood welling up as soon as he pulled away.

Instead of dripping it on the soil this time, he decided to just feed it directly to his friend. Squeezing his finger over the rosebud he counted out seven drops.

Drop by drop his blood fell, dying it redder each time like ink in water, color blooming and spreading from the bottom up until every last inch of white was eaten up.

The rose was now a deep red, but underneath the light of the moon, he could have sworn that it almost looked black, the words still moving around just barely visible, and with the seventh drop, it seemed to almost double in size, still a bud, but now almost as big as Petunia's best rose at full bloom.

Harry stared at his friend, eyes wide, and it seemed to preen under the attention, shaking its leaves out and showing off its new look.

He shuffled on his knees in a circle around it, examing it at every angle and petting its petals, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow, if you're going to get this big every time I feed you, then it probably won't be long until you're done growing."

"Now, I just hope that you don't get _too_ big, otherwise I'll never be able to keep you hidden," it gave him chills just thinking about what would happen if his friend got found out. Petunia would most definitely scream, and Vernon would probably try and set it on fire. "Yeah, no, that is _not_ allowed to happen, under any circumstance. But don't worry, I'll make sure to keep you safe, cause that's what friends do."

Sitting down, Harry settled in for a long night, and beneath the light of the moon, their shadows seemed to stretch and twist, becoming one.

* * *

Just as Harry feared, his friend did grow bigger, _much_ bigger, until by the time about two weeks had passed it was bigger than _Harry. _Which wasn't hard, considering how short he was, but still, it was_ huge, _clearly visible from behind the tree, and still, it hadn't bloomed.

Luckily though, by some magical miracle, he was the only one who seemed able to see it.

It's size, however, was the last thing on Harry's mind when he came out to see it that night, the yard almost completely dark from how little light the moon was giving off, barely a sliver in the sky.

He pulled the rag away from his head and almost threw it on the ground when he saw that he was still bleeding. He stomped over to sit by his friend, too angry to speak even as it nudged in close to his back, wrapping huge glimmering leaves around him until he was completely engulfed, vision consumed by gold.

He dropped the rag and hugged back as much as he could, frustrated tears welling up and slipping down his cheeks.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but no matter how much air he breathed in, the hot ball in his chest went untouched, burning hotter, and hotter, and _hotter_.

It just wasn't fair! Why did he have to be punished when he didn't even do anything? He didn't ask Dudley to push him hard enough that he fell to the floor, banging his head on the edge of the table and knocking the vase to the ground, he didn't ask to be left with the Dursley's, who hated him for absolutely no reason, he didn't ask for his parents to die and leave him alone, he didn't ask for _any_ of it, but still, he was being punished for things that weren't his fault, thrown in the cupboard, bleeding, with no food to look forward to for the next three days so that he could "think about what he'd done", like him simply breathing, simply _existing_ wasn't reason enough for them to punish him.

He turned, burying his face in the soft petals of the rosebud and barely resisted the urge to scream.

His friend held him tighter, and they stayed like that for what felt like hours, until he could breathe without every breath feeling like fire, and the ball in his chest cooled to just another stone to add to the growing pile in his chest, weighing him down with every moment just like this.

"Sorry," he sniffed, wiping at his eyes, "I didn't mean to come out here in such a bad mood, but today's just been _horrible_."

"I just, I just _hate_ them all, so much. I wish, I wish that they'd all just _disappear_, and then it would just be the two of us, and I wouldn't have to be hurt, or angry, or hungry ever again." He tried to sit up, feeling for his head, but as soon as he did his friend just pulled him back in, somehow wrapping him up even tighter than before.

He huffed out a small, tired laugh, slumping back down and slowly petting its petals.

"Sorry, I don't want to worry you, I'm fine," he mumbled, snuggling in a little closer, "As long as I have you, as long as we're together, I'll be fine, so please hurry and bloom, okay?"

The leaves rustled and loosened, fluttering over his hair and patting his back, as though it was trying to reassure him that it would. Harry took the opportunity to sit up, carefully touching his head, and was surprised to see his fingers come away dry. It still felt tender, but it wasn't bleeding any more.

"Huh, I guess I was out here longer than I thought, or did you do something to help?"

He turned to his friend, but other than maybe looking a little darker, which might have just been because of how dark it was outside, it didn't look any different.

"Well, it doesn't really matter, I'm just happy it stopped." He shrugged, carefully cutting his finger on one of the thorns that were now bigger than his hands, and letting his friend lift him with its leaves until he was able to feed it.

That done, he sat back down on the ground and let his friend wrap him back up in its leaves, and they watched the stars until he was on the verge of falling asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He stood up, patting its petals, yawning through his words as he tried to speak "I'm gonna head back in now, okay?" he waited until it patted him back to step away, "Tomorrow's the new moon, so you won't have any moonlight then, sorry, but you should be fine since you're only missing one day, right? Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

He walked inside and closed the back door, waving goodbye one last time, and his friend waved back, its gold leaves and stem the only thing visible, the rest fading to black.

* * *

Harry sat on his cot, kicking his feet back and forth, waiting for the right moment to sneak out. Dudley and Petunia had fallen asleep an hour ago, and Vernon was the last to go, his snores echoing through the house, clear even through the cupboard door.

He stood up, ready to unlock the door, when he heard a noise. Leaning his ear against the door he listened closer. It sounded...it sounded like someone walking in the house. He held his breath, listening harder, and...there was definitely someone in the house. They were moving slowly from the kitchen to the living room, steps odd and shuffling.

As they made their way past the cupboard, they stopped, just in front of his door. Holding both hands over his mouth, Harry tried to stay as still and silent as possible, screwing his eyes shut and not even daring to blink.

All he could think was that this was a burglar, and no matter how much he hoped that if that was the case they took everything worth taking from the house, he couldn't help but remember the stories that Vernon would tell as justification for why he kept the shotgun in the house, horror stories of people breaking into someone's home and...and _killing_ them.

But even as he thought this, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was _wrong, _that this wasn't as simple as that.

Heart racing, Harry slowly opened his eyes when the footsteps finally resumed, heading towards the stairs. He craned his head around, following the sound with his eyes, and the feeling of wrongness intensified as they went up the stairs slowly, one by one, the sound raising the hair on his neck and goosebumps all down his arms.

The sound was, it was _wrong, _that was the only way he could describe it. Odd thumps like hands hitting the steps instead of feet, shuffling and dragging, it was like there were two sets of footsteps mixed into one, but he knew there was only one person on the stairs.

Just above him, to the left, he heard Dudley's door creak open, the odd footsteps going inside, and then silence.

He moved closer to the wall trying to hear better, when the silence was broken by the sound of something wet and loud snapping, punctuated by the sharp, clear sound of glass hitting and rubbing against itself. After a minute the sounds stopped, and the steps continued onto Petunia and Vernon's room down the hall, though now they were faster and smoother.

Their door creaked open, just like Dudley's, and the person went inside. Harry moved a few steps to the other end of the cupboard, closer to where their room was, keeping his steps as quiet as possible.

There were more shuffling steps, and then a scream that sounded like Petunia, quickly cut off before it could get any further than a high pitched _Ah!, _followed by a wet gurgle.

The wet snapping and glass sounds started again, and Vernon's snores abruptly cut off, filling the house with nothing else but those same horrible sounds.

Harry's heart was beating hummingbird fast as he stood frozen, staring up at the bottom of the stairs, his blood rushing in his ears until that was all he could hear, drowning out the sounds from upstairs.

He didn't, _he_ _didn't know what to do_.

He stood there for what felt like forever, crouched down on the floor, hands over his mouth and eyes squeezed shut, when suddenly he had the feeling that he wasn't alone, that someone was _watching him._

Slowly turning his head toward the door, he counted to three before he opened his eyes. The door was still closed, but that didn't mean a single thing, because he could see the shadow of someone standing there, just on the other side.

They just stood there, not moving, not making a sound, not even breathing as far as he could tell, but the longer they stood there, the longer he stared at their shadow, not quite right and twisting even as he watched it, that feeling of wrongness grew.

And then they spoke, and Harry's heart stopped.

"**h**A_R_r_**Y. **H_**aR**_R__y. _H**A**_r**R**_Y."

Its _voice_, its voice was _strange_. High and low, soft and hard, it was like a thousand different voices all tangled up together into one, each trying it's best to be heard over the rest.

And if he listened closely, he thought he could even hear Dudley and Petunia and Vernon's voices mixed in too.

The door opened by itself, and standing before him was a creature born from nightmares, all the more terrifying because it was _familiar._

It looked like...it was a creature, something almost like a wolf that looked like Padfoot, but it was covered in _eyes, _hundreds of them, button eyes, and human eyes burning gold, all watching him. And on its face in the place of eyes was a single broken mirror, each fractured piece reflecting him.

It stepped closer to him, its front feet looking more like human hands pretending to be something they were not, and he saw that its fur that he thought was made of shadows or darkness was actually words, a cloud of them so densely packed together they formed a sea of fluid black, brief flashes of star gold thorned vines appearing and disappearing like streaks of fleeting light.

"S-stop, please, stop," he begged, scrambling back on the cot, but it didn't stop.

"H**A**_r**R**_Y. **t**O_G_et_**H**_Er."

With every word squeezed out by a throat that was never meant to speak, blood dripped down its rows and rows of teeth, like jagged pieces of broken mirror stained crimson, as bright as the rose petals that fell and died with each step.

"Please, please, stop. If you're my friend, you'll _stop,_" he pleaded, wishing with everything he had that it would.

But it didn't stop.

"**F**_r_I**e**n_**D**_s. _f_O**R**e_v**E**_r."

It sank into him, cold and hot and everything and nothing, like someone had bottled the starless sky and poured it on him, an endless spill of inky black.

* * *

On a warm new moon night, the front door to number 4 Privet drive opened, and out stepped a small figure walking silently into the night. Stepping onto the street, they passed beneath a circle of light cast by a streetlamp.

And in the light there stood a boy, his shadow something Other, a crown of thorns upon his head, and a thousand eyes that watch and wonder.


End file.
